


Streak

by Ruuuka



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Light Angst, M/M, New Asgard, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-12-07
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19018450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ruuuka/pseuds/Ruuuka
Summary: The remaining Asgardians are busy starting anew on Earth; the shell that used to be Thor participates the way he can. The trickster’s return is moderately welcome among the disillusioned folks, but what he seeks is something else than their lenience.





	1. Chapter 1

It took another five years, and Thor was back to New Asgard. He left leadership in Valkyrie's hand, he just hid away in a single-bedroom cottage with small windows. He helped out at constructions and took part in trainings, but he refused any offers and requests if they involved governing matters. His explanations were scarce and blurry; Valkyrie deciphered something like not finding himself worthy of the task. Well, it was reasonable in a way, Thor's attention span had significantly decreased since they first met, and she wouldn't exactly have used the word _self-reliant_ when describing him. He mostly consumed alcohol for sustenance, unless someone thought about visiting him with something more to chew on.

On the building sites, however, he was a strong hand; and he was willing to spend his days working, he only drank through the longest evenings when there was nothing else to do than observe his own demons. While normally he was forced to listen to them, alcohol helped him dance along. When he did, he broke things, often what he had built that day, bellowing about this city being a shame. He was his complete opposite when drunk. Afterwards, he took an unneeded amount of effort to apologise to the ones harmed in any way. Some thought he probably worked so hard at other times to get ahead of himself and build more than what he would destroy later. And he did work instead of three men. He trained instead of five.

He braided thick locks in his hair and beard to keep them at bay, they had always been a bother to him at work and at drinking. The time it took to take care of these was another blessed excuse to keep busy during the endlessly stretching days.

He never told anyone about where he’d been and what he’d seen while out in the world with the Guardians.

There were evenings when he didn’t drink enough to _dance_. Then he sat under the sky on Eastern Peak, where the sea rumbled far below and the wind hummed like a slumbering monster. He went there with a single beer and sat motionlessly for hours. Some that held themselves his friends followed him at times, asked him what he was doing. _Stargazing_. But they never saw him lift his eyes from the horizon.

That spot was the most precious one of the tiny gift-land; the only reason no one had built their house on it so far was that the countless applicants couldn’t find an agreement on who should have the privilege. And then, when Thor started frequenting the place, people grew worried that he might just destroy whatever they built there. So it was left alone for now.

Then one day, the God of Thunder approached Valkyrie with the request to have a statue built at that very spot. She stared at him like he was doing ballerina flips. She, about the only person willing to contradict him if unavoidable, plainly refused: they were short on materials anyway, it wasn’t the time for the luxury of memorials. Especially ones that people would have frowned upon.

She found him up there that night, and as an apology, she sat down next to him with her own chug of ale.

“What are you doing here for real, stargazer?” she asked.

He didn’t stir out of his brooding posture: just another rocky heap in the dim light.

“Pretending. A child’s play.”

“What are you playing?”

“That it’s a thousand years ago.”

That’s all he revealed. Valkyrie couldn’t know, because she had already been on her escape from the past by then: a millennium ago, Odin had visited Midgard with his two children, aiding humans at their journeys to uncharted lands. Battles went on, and the golden-haired boy had never been able to sit tight anyway; he ended up separated from the rest of the Asgardians for several years until he found his way back across the sea. It’s possible that Odin knew well where he was, but he didn’t send for him – Thor had a lesson to learn.

He arrived just as healthy and dumb as he had left, happily working on a ship as the lowest-ranked seaman. He laughed at the familiar servants’ astonished ruckus over his dishevelled appearance, he greeted Father like they had separated the day before, and he got stabbed in the chest by his brother. He had trouble breathing for a day from the constantly welling-up blood, and he was bedridden for another. While he was unable to speak, and for once, had to listen to what others were saying, a young maid was appointed to spend time reading for him and telling tales. When she was out of things to say, she humbly asked him not to be mad at Prince Loki, not this time: he was only upset because he’d been immensely worried that Thor was gone forever. He would spend hours on a cliff and stare at the horizon to detect ships approaching. Most likely, His Majesty denied his knowledge from him, just like from everyone else.

Valkyrie couldn’t know all this, nor that Thor was playing Loki; that he was punishing himself for the time he had only recently come to fully understand; that he was relishing the sensation of hope in the pretended wait. All she knew from the pathetic act was that Thor was on some consuming journey within himself. So, in the end, she had that statue built for him. Made of the measly stone of Earth, Loki’s figure stood on Eastern Peak, welcoming each sunrise with open arms. Thus, the God of Mischief privatised the elite spot.

–

New Asgard had barely started existing, so its people chose new things to celebrate. They saluted excessive harvest, commemorated the completion of each house, toasted on cloudless nights against the chill. As they were currently vulnerable against the caprice of nature, they went back to honouring it instead of societal achievements.

They celebrated Foundation Day on an early summer’s eve each year. They spent the night under the open sky, clustering around bonfires, enjoying food and drinks with music or just talks and laughter. There was usually a main fire of significant size on the market square, where amateur theatre plays, concerts, performances took place. Even Midgardians from other countries tended to visit and take a look at the plays and songs often caricaturing the human race, they laughed along at the appointed peculiarities of their lives when they could.

This year, like in all other ones, Valkyrie was stirred out of her pleasant drinking spree around midnight to _make a speech_ , as these over-affectionate fellow Asgardians called the pointless and wrongly timed task, which was always pressed upon her at her best moments (meaning: when she was free to drink as much as her throat took in). She had really never asked for this, she would grunt each time, as if she hadn’t had her entire heart in New Asgard’s matters all other days.

“There you go, twerps,” she said into the microphone on the pedestal. “I’m standing here, are you happy?”

The universal cheer said they were, so she rolled her eyes and continued, intending to be short.

“Yes, New Asgard is standing, we all love that. And it’s anything but my merit. Those who think otherwise, feel free to leave a demijohn at my door in gratitude, filled, of course. With something alcoholic. And no need to knock or meet me for it. Just leave it there and I’ll find it, thanks. Oh, and no names. I don’t do bribing. I mean, you can leave your name if you want, but know that I’ll ignore your starving ass just as much next time.”

Thor smiled at her glance towards him in the crowd. Away from the mic, she mouthed a promise to share the anticipated booty with him. And she went on.

“Anyway, the merit’s yours, all of yours who work your rears off to make a living and build up this nation at the same time. All of yours who can barely scrape together something to live from and still don’t demand your non-existent share but keep working for us all. In all our names, thank you.”

Despite her previous reluctance, she waited out another excitement wave.

“And finally, whether you agree or not, I want a hoot for our main workforce and biggest pain in the neck. Our almost-king that thankfully rejected the opportunity to lead us into an economical demise, our lousy-ass, grouchy, blasted ray of sunshine, forever a people’s man, Thor!”

The God of Thunder joined the cheer for himself with his own roar, raising both arms, one holding a half-empty bottle. The content of several other ones buzzed in his large body; the music and the party fever had fogged over his perception, the sight of his people full of life and will and care lifted his spirits. He downed the rest of his drink, it barely added to the heightened level of alcohol rushing in his blood. For the first time in an eternity, he felt like he himself had risen above the swamp of his existence. He laughed out loud, unheard in the ruckus but refreshing in his throat. He saw Valkyrie smile unveiled at the people; even though she preferred not to boast with sentimentality, she liked what she saw. 

“For Asgard!” Thor bellowed, and it spread out around him like fire, pleasuring his ears as the general roar of the masses shaped into the word. He merged into the joy-crazed, cometic dance of the people. His voice flew amidst the roars of bliss. Asgard was standing firm.

Just like he came to stand at the sight, his limbs running cold. Wide-eyed, he stared into a pair of green ones at the edge of the square. Then he narrowed his eyes at the phenomenon, expecting it in vain to change as the smoke cloud flew up from between them.

It took a few hasty breaths for his brain to click back into motion, a bit longer for his body. His first attempt to yell the name was a mere whimper, but it brought forth realisation that sent a shiver through him.

The other god’s frown increased as Thor approached, he should have noted that as precaution. But he wasn’t thinking straight: he sped up as Loki shook his head, as if in disbelief, and backed up.

“Loki!” yelled the thunder god across the space between them, breaking into a run, because his brother was here but he was already leaving, that familiar roll of his eyes showed he wasn’t pleased with whatever had just struck him, and he wouldn’t wait for Thor to clarify or remedy it.

He repeated the name until his throat hurt, he called after the back hurrying away from him; he recorded the raven-locks flying in the wind last before the sorcerer turned in a corner, and he was gone by the time Thor reached it.

He spent the rest of the night searching New Asgard. Yelling his brother’s name among bonfires, and away from them on unlit streets. Bargaining on a high volume. Ignoring people that asked him to let their children sleep.

Other than the latter, no one hindered him in his activity; a regularly occurring drunk state was known to cause hallucinations. Somebody would help him face the truth the next morning, after the offensive haze lifted from his mind.


	2. Chapter 2

Thor observed the tattoo peeking out from under the collar. It could have been petals, flames, perhaps a crown, intricately shaped: its lines curling, forking, ending in minute beads. He could see the details as the pattern arched for the jawbone and got lost under the hair behind the ear, because he was staring at his brother's profile and got royally ignored. Loki was chatting with Gormr, the momentarily somewhat flustered clerk behind the registry desk, in the middle of a lengthy story about how he had made it to this land.

“And then, have you noticed that claiming a vehicle is easier here than anywhere else? They stand scattered all over the streets. If it runs out of fuel, you just drop it and step up to the nearest one, and all the hundreds of onlookers won’t care as long as the alarm doesn’t go off. I've made it until Denmark this way without being caught once. The police never follow you farther than a dozen miles out of their own city. Now, airports and harbours are a different thing. But as long as you travel on land, don't take anything but the cars of civilians: those mean no challenge, really.”

“You killed humans for their vehicles?” Thor frowned.

"No," Loki articulated. "I hit them with a sleeping charm." He turned back to the clerk then. "But not everyone has the skill for that, so you have to use your own wits."

It would have been a story enjoyed, if it hadn't happened with Thor standing near them awkwardly, his increasingly morose attempts to interrupt causing Loki to shush him each time, explaining that he was in the middle of the important administrative process to become a local inhabitant. That, at least, reassured the thunder god to some extent. Until his patience ran out.

At that point, he slammed his fist on the desk, making it sag a little along a crack, and everyone's attention at the office landed on him. As the sorcerer finally came to regard him, Thor could see disapproval in the corner of his mouth.

"What?" came the irate question.

"It's my place to ask that. What are you doing here?"

"Amazingly, it’s exactly what it looks like: I'm settling in. And in case anyone's going to demand your intervention, let me help you out: you can't do anything against it. My crime records have been destroyed with Asgard, so I can get all citizen rights and go wherever I want in this land."

It was far from what Thor had asked about, they both knew.

"That's all great, trust me,” said the thunder god; “but where the hell did you come from?"

"I've just told this gentleman right in your uninvited presence, Thor,” snapped the trickster. “Seriously, fix your attention span. And eat a salad."

And with a scornful look over the thunder god's figure, Loki was out of the office.

Thor jogged after him into the lukewarm summer breeze.

"Are you vengeful because of something?"

"Me, never," came the brief response while Loki hurried on, his look on the surrounding rooftops.

"Then stop and talk to me."

"Patience is a virtue, brother, stand in line."

"What's your next plan?"

"Living. You better start, too, instead of dogging my tail."

"Have you talked to Valkyrie?"

"Am I a fool to have her set some guard on me?"

The sorcerer stopped abruptly at a fruit stand, and he peeked in through the entrance of the small, shabby hut behind it.

“Ingrid, how nice to see you've made it," he greeted.

"Loki?" The former court lady was astonished to see him as she walked to the door. "You're alive! Why are you here?"

"Nothing grand, just dropped in for a bit," he answered while walking on before Thor could have caught up. "You've got fine ware, expect me back for some."

"Thor, what did he come here for?" asked the woman with unveiled fright in her tone.

The thunder god, not yet following her stand, touched her shoulder pacifyingly and hurried after the seemingly unwelcome trickster.

"You apparently haven't made a big deal of my sacrifice to save the people back then," Loki noted without looking back at him.

"You can see there are many more pressing matters than commemorating the fallen."

"Like getting drenched every night? Acceptable."

"You know nothing of what went by here, Loki," growled the thunder god.

He didn't get an answer, unless it counted that their pace quickened suddenly, so much that they soon grew out of breath. Before he knew it, they were climbing a familiarly winding slope.

"Thank you for this gift," said the sorcerer, a smile in his tone as he turned back in the high clearing with arms open, back to the statue. "I'll gladly take it, I shall raise my shelter here."

"This place isn't for sale," Thor warned.

"Fits me just perfectly then."

"Don't play with the people's favour right away, or you'll meet the same fate as before."

The trickster laughed at that, with half-hearted honesty.

"Don't you ever be concerned about me, brother," he said then while walking further towards the edge. "There is nothing new this abandoned little folk could do to me."

"What do you have against them?"

"Funny it's what you're asking, after what has just conspired down there."

"They've lost everything recently, Loki. They distrust anything right now."

"Even Midgardians?"

"They have no choice but to rely on them, there is nowhere else to go but the land they've been granted."

“You’re not even planning to lead them out onto a better place,” the amused sorcerer deduced, his soft tone mostly meant for himself alone.

“We are not to know what the future holds; for now, it shall be enough to focus on-”

Loki interrupted him with a sharp turn from the horizon, his eyes now coloured like venom under his dark eyebrows.

"Return to your people, Thor. I've tired of you, and I have lots to do before night falls," he pointed out, and the thunder god just noticed the fishing boat over his shoulder catching rapidly heightening fire in the distance. Even as people jumped off, some stayed behind and uttered commands carried here by the wind. Thor didn’t hesitate to call Stormbreaker into his hand, and with a disapproving frown at his brother, he swung himself into the air to help the troubled crew. He heard Loki laugh openly as he did so.

It turned out to be just a mirage; as he got closer, his eyes couldn’t distinguish either the flaming wooden structure or the swimmers any more. The ice cold water didn’t help much at easing his boiling blood, so he shot out of the water with an avalanche right away, darting towards the cliff, to discourage the trickster from ever using such gruesome images as entertainment again. However, the clearing had been abandoned by then. Like his entire morning up to now had been a dream, nothing but the cold statue and faintly whispering grass awaited him. His calls went unheeded, his jog down the winding slope didn’t help him meet a soul until he made it back to the streets. Loki remained unseen by anyone he asked that day. Sympathetic looks and pats on his bulky shoulder reassured him that things would eventually get better; some invited him over for dinner, tactfully requesting him not to bring any alcohol. He responded to all warmly, and he remained inside his cottage for the night.

-

The next morning, people stared and pointed at the architectural composition from the main square down below. Its splendid size and substances mocked the cottages lining the seaside, even the two-storey houses in the centre. The younger prince’s return was a matter of gossip all over the town by noon, and more curses than questions were heard about it. Thor spent the day helping out with shipment at the docks, stacking crates onto nets and letting them down into the water to keep them cool, sharing bemusement over the hilltop villa with the other citizens; to the talks near him about Loki, he didn’t add anything unless asked. His brief comments aimed to reassure the people that nothing vile was preparing, and the mysterious building was but a misunderstanding that would be gone from the sensitive point before they’d have time to organise their resistance.

The lightly veiled sun was low over the rooftops when he stopped the work and headed for Eastern Peak, massaging his calloused hands: They were going to meet a greater challenge soon, if he was to destroy the conceit that Loki was demonstrating. Although the sorcerer was probably right about his sins being unwritten, they clearly existed in the people’s memories, building up their grudge along with his fanciful ideas, undermining his own chances to settle down. Increasing the possibility of exile. He had nowhere else to go, he had no one else to belong with.

Did he?

A gate blocking the end of the pathway interrupted his brooding. It was made of something that looked and felt like faintly glowing ice but wasn’t melting in the mild summer; it broke down from a single blow of a fist, Thor didn’t even falter in his long steps.

Then, twenty feet from the spectacular dwelling, his legs were captured by coiling tendrils up to his thighs in a blink. He fell down and struggled to catch the wire-like things, which were constantly tightening with or without his resistance, digging into his flesh through the light cotton pants in a few seconds. He gritted his teeth while he sought a hold on them with trembling hands.

The next moment reached him on his knees, unharmed, cool fingertips against the throbbing veins in his temple. Panting, he frowned up into his brother’s scornful eyes.

“…the hell was that?” his lips half-formed between two breaths.

“A trap for intruders like yourself.”

The fingers pushed his forehead lightly before redrawing with their owner.

“Go away. What do you want?” Loki inquired.

“The second one,” the thunder god said while gathering his shaky legs to stand up. “You get rid of this pompous house right now, or I’ll demolish it for you.”

“Well, you can try,” the trickster smiled, hands politely offering a path to the house. “ Do you mind if I watch right from here, up close?”

“It makes no difference,” Thor grunted and walked on.

This time, flames of Muspelheim sprang up from the ground, dancing around him in a narrowing circle.

“Damn you, Loki!” he cursed, but he wasn’t sure his voice reached through the swirl of the ever-singing flames.

Their breath scorched the hair on his skin; they consumed oxygen second-fast, and then nothing but cinder was left for him to inhale. While coughing, he reminded himself that it wasn’t real; these words, like an empty mantra, repeated in his mind as he fought his own convulsing lungs to take another gulp of the barely found air. He guessed that it took but a long step, and he was out of the cursed spot.

He yelped and jerked his hand back from the accidental reach, staring at the aching bone of his fingers. Just bone, miscoloured by remainders of burnt meat.

“It’s not real,” he pressed through gritted teeth, a tone scolding himself for giving in to the pain. “It shall not get me down this time, brother.”

As if called, he could hear Loki’s irritatingly calm voice over the roaring heat.

“I’m here, by the way, in case you need help. Just let me know when you do.”

“Not from your petty mind games,” he spat. “We’re ending this now, and then settle what I’m here for.”

The world went white as he stepped into the illusionary flames unthinking. Pain was absent, he registered his flesh melting like he was peeling off dead scale from a healed wound. His feet collapsed – a heap of bones – when he endeavoured to take another step.

The illusion lifted to reveal him screaming hoarsely. He slid away from the fingers this time, falling forward onto his elbows at his brother’s feet, trembling in sweat. He was fighting off nausea while he heard listless steps stride away on the grass. The sorcerer walked up to the building and leaned to the wall near the entrance.

“What were you here to do, again?” he asked lightly.

“Undo your selfish work, Loki, don’t anger the people,” Thor grunted as he sat up on the ground with the tardiness of an aged veteran.

The sorcerer threw up his arms.

“My statue was built here. The place is obviously dedicated to me. So I claimed it as it’s rightful, and building it up so it fits my grace.”

“With all these powers, you could help the town and gain some fine reputation.”

“I have no need for such praise at the moment.”

The smug note made a heated surge rush into Thor’s temple. Loki must have had no idea what this was doing to his image in people’s eyes. There was no other possibility, he couldn’t be such a fool.

“Well, you're on your own now,” the trickster went ahead of his response. “Go home and drink yourself to oblivion. Or die trying to get in here, if it pleases you, I don't care."

“You’re digging your own grave, brother,” Thor called after him when he moved into the house. “Heed my words, let me help you.”

Receiving no answer, he clambered to his feet, helpless rage tensing his posture.

"What do you hate me for this time?" he yelled across the invisible barrier, at the sky high wall. "Fine then, hate me! My hands are off you, as you wish! But don't come to me asking to fight our people for you! Because I won't! I'm done fighting," he added trailing off, "I'm no good at it any more."

_You've never been_ , Loki muttered quietly while he produced a rolled-up stack of parchments from thin air and spread it wide over the table, not even its rustle hiding the heavy steps outside treading away.


End file.
